Apathy: The Life and Times of Matt Donovan
by DonoTheVan
Summary: The first chapter in a collection of stories about the daily life of Matt Donovan, the one resident in Mystic Falls who has absolutely no outstanding abilities whatsoever.


– Chapter I –

CHANELLE

Matt Donovan's biggest wish in life had been to obtain a driver's license for as long as he could remember (in itself this didn't mean much, since his memory usually didn't stretch very far back due to a shortage of storage space). He achieved his goal at the ripe old age of sixteen, and ever since he had felt a bit down. Like his life lacked a little bit of direction.

His existence sometimes felt like the scene in »The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy« where a man feels that his entire life is someone elses dream, and he begins to wonder who that other person is and whether it's a pleasant dream or a bad dream. Matt, of course, didn't know about this book, because Matt didn't read books. Matt worked out instead. And when he didn't work out he put his driver's license to use. Sometimes by driving aimlessly up and down the same street, hoping to get pulled over by a passing patrol car. At other times by frequently providing personal identification in situations that didn't call for it, such as buying groceries.

Matt liked his driver's license, because it told him something about who he was. In a literal way; it actually had his name and address written on it.

This particular evening he needed it for something else entirely, though. He was finally going to Whitmore. He had been there a few weeks before to visit his friends, and on his way out he had passed a bar window with a sign in it. "Help needed. ID required", it had said. And Matt had suddenly felt all that lack of direction disappear and be replaced by something akin to a purpose.

"I can help", he said. But he didn't get a reply, because he was talking to a sign.

Still, Matt had taken it as a sign, because that was how he worked. His brain was one of those literal ones that was protected from symbolism and metaphors by an extra layer of bone. He had taken the sign as a sign, because it was a sign, and by the same logic there was no other way for him to take it than to physically remove it from the window. It was now behind the seat of his pickup truck, next to his treasured collection of »Muscle Magazine«. He had four issues.

To get to Whitmore from Mystic Falls he had to get on the interstate. Right at the first sliproad was a big advertising board showcasing a new parfume. There was a picture of a woman smelling a bottle which supposedly contained a pleasant fragrance. There was something written underneath.

Matt had noticed the board several times, but he had never had time to actually read the text or to find out which brand it was advertising for since he was driving, and like many males – as well as a handful of the less gifted animals – he struggled to do two things simultaneously.

Personally, Matt found simultaneous capacity to be overrated. His philosophy was that it was better to do one thing well than two things well. This didn't make much sense when you actually thought about it, but Matt didn't think much about it. He concentrated on doing one thing well instead. And right now he was trying to drive as well as he could. He was very pleased with how well it was going. Him and that car made a great team. People sometimes joked that it was his girlfriend – probably because he had given it a woman's name... What was it again?

Matt slowed down a little. He sometimes did that when he was thinking, because the part of his brain that handled memories needed power from the part that told his foot to keep pushing the gas. He was sure he had given the car a woman's name, as a sign of affection. But which one?

He was almost down to 5 miles per hour now. He searched his memory long and hard, but due to the shortage of storage space he could only think of one name. He had forgotten where he had first seen or heard it, but it sounded very familiar. Surely it was the right one.

"Chanelle," he said out loud, as if he was trying to convince himself. And then, without fully knowing why, he hesitantly added: "The magic is in the bottle."

He wasn't quite sure why he had said it, or what bottle he was referring to, and he had an eerie feeling that he had imagined the spelling of the name wrong. It confused the hell out of him. And worse: he had been thinking of the name of the car for so long that he had started to forget his own. He had run out of storage space again.

He stopped the car and took out his driver's license. Matt liked it because it told him something about who he was. His address was written on it. He lived in Mystic Falls. Apparently he was driving in the wrong direction.

"Of course," he muttered to himself and turned the car around.


End file.
